


And from my dreams a graveyard

by Ascel



Series: from my dreams [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, M/M, POV Female Character, POV Multiple, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6457630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ascel/pseuds/Ascel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Organizing the Hunger Games is a strategical nightmare on the best of days, so with added political plots and pesky tributes that won't die Hux might finally snap and kill someone with his bare hands.</p><p>And then there's Ren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hux I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Marron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Marron/gifts).



> With many thanks for my dearest Marron! I am very, very sorry this is super late. And I don't even know how to credit you here, because let's be honest, this wouldn't exist without you holding my hand at every stage of writing. I think the title of the exec is not enough for you.
> 
> The title comes from [this](http://www.sww.w.szu.pl/index.php?id=slowo_59) poem. Kind of.

The biggest problem with Hunger Games, Hux had decided, was how much of an organizational nightmare they were. It was unavoidable, he supposed, given the sheer size of this event but still, it seemed almost silly. He had been expecting insane amount of work, as the director of this thing, he just hadn't thought he would have to deal with stylists and hairdressers and bloody TV crews.

Well, not that he was dealing with them personally - no matter what anyone said, he was much too busy with the actual planning of the arena and the many, many traps he designed to keep the viewers entertained. It all had to be done beforehand and he wouldn't relegate this to any lackey. This was the fun part after all, and more importantly a chance to show what he was capable of. He would rather be damned than allow any incompetent fool to fuck it up because they were too busy thinking about yesterday's dinner to pay attention to the fine details.

It was the fact that he had to deal with absolutely unnecessary PR stuff on top of that that was the problem. He even understood the need to schedule interviews and TV appearances and stylist appointments for the tributes. It wouldn't do for them to die before the audience could form the emotional connection and get some closure from all that, and they all died so easily. But he did struggle to understand why did _he_ have to get interviewed. In the prime time, no less, and with Watto of all creatures. Right before the Games, too, like he didn't have anything to do while organizing, oh, _the biggest event of his entire career_.

At least the media exposure would be good for him, objectively speaking, even if he did detest playing "the eager to prove himself boy" for the Coruscant. It couldn't be really helped, though. And it all would work out with a carefully planned schedule and even more carefully prepared relegation of the tasks. Mitaka could handle the arrangement of the media circus and Hux could focus on planning how to effectively murder a group of children in around a two weeks time (and it did require planning to keep some of them alive for so long) and then he could go and smile at the cameras for half an hour and he would have the most memorable Games of the last ten years on his resume when all this would be over.

Well, at least if Ren didn't fuck up all of his plans, as he usually did.

* * *

The problem with Kylo Ren wasn't, strictly speaking, one problem. More accurately, all of him was a problem and the whole Galaxy would be a better place without his existence. Preparing Games certainly would be easier, as Ren was the worst mentor to ever grace them, and considering that all of them were seasoned killers, that was saying something. Still, the rest of them didn't have to be kept from murdering their charges before the Games even began.

It didn't exactly help that Ren, besides being homicidal maniac, was Coruscant's sweetheart and president Snoke's little protégé. Fuck knows why, because brutally murdering a group of children at fifteen in impressively short amount of time shouldn't be a way into anyone's heart. But then again, the Games were the most viewed event of a year on Coruscant and the victors usually did end up as a celebrities for a short while, before the public got bored of them and inevitably they ended up back in whatever gutter they crawled out of. So it figured that Ren, whose performance in the Games was nothing if not memorable, would still be widely recognizable and cozy with the société and the president himself, even twelve years later. The last part wasn't really surprising - Snoke was many things, most of them atrocious, and he certainly was crafty when it came to power, so of course he would be using Ren until he squeezed the last drop of political value out of him.

It was fucking irritating, though, because Hux couldn't exactly have the Games without the most _beloved_ victor as a trainer, who was also a murderous diva and a lapdog of a most powerful person in this part of Galaxy - and who without any doubt would run to complain the second he didn't like something. Probably destroying at least a thousand credits worth of equipment on his way there. And that was without taking into account Hux's own, ah, _personal matters_ with Ren. Who, knowing him, will probably take them very much into account, and compensate by being twice as much uncooperative and destructive and emotionally unstable.

Hux supposed that at least whatever tribute that got Ren as a mentor could benefit from the additional attention of the public and sponsors. Provided they got out of training alive.

* * *

 

Phasma found him at the most opportune moment, as she usually did. Opportune for her, obviously, because he had been busy and her just showing up like that was fucking irritating, and she knew that, but he hadn't been busy enough to just ignore her. It probably helped he was still kind of wary of her, even after years of what would've counted as friendship if the two of them were any other kind of people. It wasn't the fact she was a victor and easily capable of killing him - he dealt with murderers on a daily basis and he could handle himself. It wasn't the physical aspect - if he was intimidated by that, he probably would've been scared of Ren, which was just plain ridiculous.

But Phasma, on top of being a six foot and six inches of perfectly trained muscle, seemed to have almost supernatural sense when it came to pinpointing bullshit. She was also quite literally immovable, stubborn as a mule and utterly resistant to any mind games. And she wasn't afraid of Hux, which chafed him.

So when she walked into his office in the middle of a workday - which didn't matter anyway, because it was three weeks to the start of the Games and so any day was a workday and he didn't have time for this - he just glared at her through the hologram displayed above his desk. It didn't faze her in the slightest, of course, she just sat on his couch and stared at him patiently. He could just as well finish working on the design; Phasma wouldn't move until she got what she wanted.

"Shouldn't you be halfway to Arkanis by now?" He asked, after he saved the changes and closed the hologram. The weapon was a close to perfect as it could physically get, looking at it for any longer wouldn't help. At this point he could as well give Phasma whatever she came here for and then move onto the things that actually required his attention.

"No. The reaping there isn't for another week. I won't be leaving for another two days. Which you know, of course. You scheduled it all yourself." Phasma looked coolly amused and completely unbothered be his obvious irritation.

"Well, yes, it may occur to you that I don't remember all the dates."

"It may occur to me that you're lying."

"Phasma" Hux said, with a tone of warning in his voice.

"If you want me gone, you may think of a better excuse. Saying you don't remember something about the Games is not even remotely believable. You can do better." Phasma's expression didn't change, of course.

"You won't leave now, no matter what I say."

"Don't sound so cross. I only wanted to see how you felt. First time organizing the Games, so much on the line. It can be... stressful." Phasma said the last word as if it was a completely new and somehow unpleasant concept and she wasn't sure she used the term correctly.

"I am perfectly fine."

"Are you? I am glad, then."

"Yes. Are we done?" She couldn't possibly come here just to ask him that.

"And how is Ren?" Phasma asked, with a tone of voice one might use to ask about weather. She also blinked, very slowly. Hux considered throwing his datapad at her. It would be quite useless and only serve to amuse her, but the urge was there. He firmly reminded himself that such urges were beneath him.

"How" he drawled "am I supposed to know that."

"Weren't you with him yesterday?"

"Ren left for Jakku yesterday. Thankfully. And he won't be back for another two weeks, which I am even more thankful for."

"So you do remember the dates." Phasma looked utterly delighted, for some reason. Either she was really happy that he remembered when the reapings were supposed to take place - like there was any doubt about that, of course he remembered - or she took great pleasure in this conversation. Unlike him. Sometimes he wondered why he even talked with Phasma.

"In any case" she continued "you must've seen him before he left. Probably a great deal of him."

"Why are we talking about this." He asked in a level voice. It took effort.

"Because I want to know what you're going to do with it. This is also professional interest, you know. If you're going to play with Ren's tribute, then I can use that with mine." Phasma was visibly pleased with herself.

"I am not doing anything and there is nothing to be doing with. And that sentence doesn't even make sense, so we are not having this conversation."

"You see, that's why you do need to relax."

"I do not need to do anything." He could throw her out, probably. It wasn't going to look very dignified, but he could do it.

"You're only pissed because you and Kylo are together, and now you will have to work with him, and you hate working with people you even care about, much less are in relationships with. You think it's unprofessional."

"Ren and I aren't together. We have periods when we can manage to be in one room together, but they are few and far between. And it is unprofessional. So is Ren, for that matter."

"You get awfully worked up about this."

"We are _done_."

Phasma just laughed. Of _fucking_ course.

* * *

 

Interview with Watto was, predictably, thoroughly unpleasant. That was possibly due to the fact that Watto himself was thoroughly unpleasant - a slimy, canny creature, utterly charming on the camera, utterly loathsome out of it. And Hux had to _humble_ himself before him.

"...the Hunger Games are our tradition, now. They come from a painful part of our history, from the rebellion and civil war, a collapse of our civilisation, a time of trail for our beliefs. But we emerged from it victorious and stronger, with certainty we will not fail again, and the Games are a proof of that. They show us a true meaning of sacrifice, of why the sacrifice is needed, they remind us of our roots. The Games are the very core of what we are."

There was a moment of silence, after, when his words sunk in. And then the audience bursted into an applause, as Watto nodded a few times, his face solemn. It was all scheduled, of course - there's no time for improvisation on a live broadcast to all parts of the Order - but they were charmed nevertheless and Hux allowed himself a small smile. This rush of power, of commanding people with his words, was just a taste of things to come. After the Games he will have them eating out of his hand.

"Well, now, this is your first time as a Gamemaker and I'm, for one, absolutely dying to know what you have in mind for us!" Watto smiled, in a way that was probably supposed to be warm and inviting, but his face wasn't really made for it, so he just looked cunning instead. "So? What are you planning? You can tell us, it will be our little secret."

"Oh, Watto" Hux laughed a little. "You know I truly cannot do that. It would spoil the surprise. You will just have to be patient for a little while longer."

"That's a man made of stone! That's a man! Nothing moves you, doesn't it? But! You can't keep us hanging like that! You simply must give us something."

"Oh, I can tell you one thing - it will be an absolute killer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the criticism is very, very welcome.


	2. Rey

Rey didn't remember the moment her name was called during the reaping.

She wasn't expecting to be reaped - but truth to be told probably no one expected to be reaped. It's just wasn't a thing that happened to you. It happened to other people on other planets, and who knew how many planets were even in the Order? More than half a Galaxy. So even if the Games were held every year, there were only twenty four tributes in there, which meant twenty four planets, chosen seemingly at random. And Jakku was only sun and sand and forgotten even in this, so nobody remembered if the reaping ever took place there. Until now.

It was kind of funny, if you thought about it, because living on Jakku was living a slow death, and being alone meant that she could die of hunger or thirst or robbery or falling of one of the ships she was scavenging and no one would even notice her corpse. Yet here she was, on her way to die before the eyes of millions, at the heart of Galaxy.

On a flight to Coruscant - and that she remembered quite clearly - Unamo had told her she should be proud, for it would be glorious death, like the warriors of old, and even more glorious victory, if she could achieve it. And in any case, shouldn't she be glad to get a chance to see something besides that pit of sand some called a planet? What waited for her was a sight not many got to see, ultimately. Coruscant, a heart of the Order, brightest planet in the universe. And only the best of what she had to offer would do for her tributes.

Unamo herself, with her cutting cheekbones and eerily pale skin and eyes, certainly did seem more at home around finery of Coruscant than in the harsh sun of Jakku. More relaxed, too, if such a thing was possible with her military bearing. Friendlier, even. Less like a statue she appeared on Jakku. Which was just as well - from what Rey gathered, Unamo would be her primary guide in all of this, preparing her for what awaited her even before the arena. And that was - interviews? Public appearances? Some sort of training? Unamo had a checklist and she has been talking excessively about one thing or another, but all of it just seemed bizarre to Rey. Being paraded around Coruscant didn't seem all that important when she would be facing her death in a few days anyway.

But it was, well, kind of comforting, she supposed, to be sitting here in a luxurious apartment. One of the walls was all windows and the view was breathtaking - a glittering city, shining its own light, seemingly endless. It wasn't like anything she has ever seen before. The interior was just as beautiful, with plush pillows and tastefully arranged flowers. Plates of sophisticated snacks which names she couldn't pronounce, just waiting to be tasted. And Unamo's melodious voice, chattering quietly about meeting a stylist or something similarly inconsequential.

It seemed unreal. Eerie, like a dream of falling into another world. World filled with wastefulness beyond what she could imagine, with more food in one room then she saw during a month on Jakku. It made the Games seem unreal, too, which might have been the point. Like she could stay here, in this elegant box. Like death was something that wouldn't happen.

The one thing that didn't fit in this serenity was the black, uneven silhouette of her mentor.

Kylo Ren was a living reminder of what was ahead of her. He was very tall, and dark, and he looked like he wouldn't have any trouble with killing everyone around him. There was just... Something off in his expression, like a danger lurking underwater. He also couldn't be thirty yet; probably closer to twenty five. The only good thing about him was that he didn't seem to pay any attention to her. He looked bored, instead, and unlike Unamo he didn't speak at all. The only words she heard him say was quietly condescending "Is that _her?_ " directed to Unamo, when he first saw Rey back on Jakku. But his voice was very soft.

Still, even his presence was disconcerting. Like a crow or a reaper. Against opulence of Coruscant he crashed, a dark stain on an ornate fabric. Rey wondered whether she seemed so disjointed, too. If she stood next to Ren, would they look similar, or even more out of place?

"You can change it." Unamo's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"What?"

"The view. You can change it." Unamo repeated with the same tone she used to explain everything else. "It can be something more familiar. A desert, perhaps? Or maybe something new?"

Rey could swear she heard a quiet snort from Ren, but when she looked back at him he was sitting in the same pose as before, ostensibly disinterested in what was going on around him. Unamo didn't seem to think it strange.

"So? What do you want it to be?"

"It should stay as it is."

* * *

Meeting with a stylist did seem like an absolute waste of time. Rey had no idea how putting her into fine clothes and making her look like a pampered citizen of Coruscant was supposed to prepare her for fighting in the arena, but it did come with the added advantage of being away from Ren and Unamo. The latter of the two had been following her like a particularly suspicious shadow since they left Jakku, so being without her, even for a moment, was a relief.

It did made her nervous, though. This would be just another person to poke and prod her into a shape they wanted, with no concern for her wishes. Or the fact that she was a person and not a droid to be programmed to act and look certain way. Meeting the army of beauticians beforehand was painful enough.

The stylist would be, apparently, a part of her team and responsible for all of her outfits, including the one she would wear during the Games. Unamo seemed to think this was a serious matter. Rey just wondered how many people were necessary to prepare what was, in reality, a bunch of children murdering each other.

Poe Dameron turned out to be unreasonably attractive in a distinctly un-Coruscant way and freakishly nice. He was charming, which might have not been surprising if he didn't feel honest at the same time. He didn't fit in with what Rey has seen of the capitol planet so far, but that may be why they got along so well. He abandoned plans of elaborate dresses after one look at her, focusing instead on simpler designs. They haven't even talked about fashion, not really. Poe asked her questions that sounded nearly nonsensical, like her childhood memories and stories told on Jakku. It was... nice. Like he wanted to get to know Rey, not the girl who was a tribute. It felt like she could trust him.

"I am really sorry this happened to you." Said Poe, seemingly out of blue, looking at her with his amazingly brown eyes. She just finished telling him about how she used to put on an old helmet and pretend to be a pilot back on Jakku and this... This was abrupt.

"Sorry for what? Why?" Rey didn't think he had ever done anything that could possibly offend her.

"The Games. You being here. The fact that you have to participate in this." Poe smiled, sad and quiet, and kept sketching in notebook he brought with him. Old-fashioned, charcoal on paper. Somehow, of all she knew about him, this felt least surprising. It fit him.

"Most people here seem to think this is a golden opportunity for me."

"Most people here don't think of the arena as something that's happening for real. They see people dying in the Games and think of entertainment and they see people dying out of them and don't think of it at all." He seemed serious, now. "Coruscant is a rotten place."

"Isn't it... unsafe? For you to say that?" Rey didn't expect this conversation to go like this.

"That I don't like the Games? Of course it is, but I'm not the only one who thinks like that. And this place isn't monitored." Poe made a motion with his hand encompassing a clinical room they were in. "They like to think of it as giving the tributes privacy. But outside of here we won't be able to talk alone. And, well. I wanted to say that. I don't really like to play their game all that much."

"What game?" Rey felt unsettled, and curious, and on edge.

"Playing pretend, of course. You know of sponsors, right?"

Rey nodded. Unamo told her about that, all the while throwing nervous looks at Ren, who didn't bother to say anything. She didn't feel particularly prepared to get people to like her, to send her things she would need. It also felt... somehow misshapen, to turn a game of survival into a popularity contest. To decide who would live based on approval rating. Then again, everything about the Games felt like that.

"They are independent, in theory. They can support anyone they like. Except, of course, the Gamemakers don't only control the arena. They control the cameras, too. And even with the Games being broadcasted live, there's still so much going on, not everything can be shown. And again, most people don't watch livestream, but the abridged version, thrown together with commentary. So they can give you as much or as little screentime as they like. And even if a sponsor still sends a gift to someone they don't like, then. Well, it isn't that hard to ensure it won't be much use." Poe said calmly. "So you see, if you win, it's only because they let you win."

"They control everything." Rey thought this should be more surprising.

"Not exactly. Not everything is important enough for them to control. You, for one... Actions of one tribute are quite easy to overlook." There was something considering in Poe's gaze.

"So" Rey licked her lips, suddenly nervous "what are we doing?"

"Why, I'm just doing my job." Poe smiled brilliantly. It was really unfair how handsome that made him. "I'm giving Coruscant something to look at. And I'll make sure no one will forget you."

* * *

The training room was vast and dark and filled with multiple sharp weapons. It also didn't feel at all safe; it felt more intimidating or even terrifying. That was probably a point, because it wasn't like four days of training were going to help anybody survive the Hunger Games. Observing the other tributes, though, learning their strengths and weaknesses... Well, that could help.

Rey wasn't too sure what she should be doing, besides watching. The compulsory exercises were quickly done with and in reality, not that helpful. After that the tributes could basically do whatever they wanted, as long as they didn't try to kill each other. Most of them moved to exercise with their mentors - Rey had no idea whether the past victors were supposed to be here, but no one seemed to mind their presence. In any case, training with someone experienced would be a good idea, if her own mentor wasn't absent, as always. She could find a staff and train on her own, but she wasn't too sure how wise it was to show her skills where others could see. Downplaying her abilities might be a better bet.

So she just stuck to the corners, a little, and concentrated on things she wasn't so sure about, like building a shelter against rain or recognizing edible plants. Staying unseen was actually easy, with twenty four of tributes running around. The strongest and the weakest were easily in the focus, so she just had to stay in the middle. Do well, but not too well; not enough to be a threat to others. Kylo Ren's absence possibly helped.

Looking at others wasn't as much interesting as educational. There were career tributes, older than her and well build, fast and strong and proficient with number of weapons. Couple of kids, short and slim; they couldn't be over fourteen. Rey preferred not to think what would happen to them in the arena. A girl possibly her age, with dark skin and light eyes, good with knives and climbing. Another one adept at traps. A slender boy excelling at hand-in-hand. Rey wondered, idly, what other skills they had. And how many sponsors they could attract.

There was also an exceptionally tall, blonde woman showing some defensive movements to a boy looking a little older than Rey herself. Most likely another career - he was built like that and he caught on remarkably quickly. It might have been thanks to his mentor, too, because even though the woman looked intimidating, she seemed nice, too. And patient. The easy exchange between the two of them made her own nonexistent relationship with her mentor seem really unfair in the contrast.

There was no use in being pensive, though. Rey wandered off to find a more secluded area and a staff. Imagining punching citizens of Coruscant would be more satisfying than feeling bad over what she didn't have.

She got lost in the repetitive motions. It was calming and made her feel capable, stronger than those people thought. There was a certain rhythm to this. She was a survivor. She wouldn't just give up and die for their entertainment.

"You're not as bad at this as I thought you'd be." A quiet voice startled her out of practice. She whirled to face its source. Kylo Ren was leaning against a wall, partly obscured by the shadows, his dark clothing the same colour as everything else in the room. She briefly wondered when he got there and just how quietly he could move for her not to notice him.

"Shouldn't you be giving me advice, then? So I might actually get better?" She refused to cower before someone like that.

"Advice? Accept your imminent death. If you can't do that, then don't die." He wasn't even looking at her. This...

"Tomorrow you will be graded." Ren continued, unbothered by her glare. "The Gamemakers and sponsors will be there. I suggest you use the staff." He pushed himself off the wall and paraded towards the door, paying no attention to people trying to get out of his way. Or frozen in their spots.

And Rey was left seething.

* * *

The aftermath of grading was possibly worse than the grading itself.

Rey felt just tired, the kind of tired when you just want to go to sleep and not wake up for the next three days. The kind that came after stress and adrenaline, after doing something mad and dangerous and getting away with it. The last thing she wanted was to sit here, waiting for the results and listening to Unamo's rant. Rey leaned back on the cushions.

Unamo looked full of a furious energy, pacing in front of those beautiful windows and speaking in a carefully measured voice in short sentences.

"You weren't even thinking. Do you know what consequences this could have? Of course not. You reflect on all of us. This is lack of discipline. And manners. You should be ashamed."

Poe, sitting on another couch in front of windows, kept making faces at Rey every time Unamo's back was to him. Rey tried hard to keep herself from laughing.

"Ren!" Unamo turned to face the door, where a dark silhouette had appeared. "You're her mentor, tell her."

Ren moved slowly, completely unhurried, with grace and purpose of a predator. Rey wondered, with a detached sort of dread, how quickly he could move to violence.

"You threw your staff at Hux?" Ren asked, his voice the same as it was when they first met.

Rey just nodded. She had no idea who Hux was, but she did throw her staff at someone.

"Brilliant." There was some vicious satisfaction on his face.

"What." Unamo spluttered.

"They can hardly forget her now, can't they? Good job." The last part was directed to Rey, which was deeply unsettling. Poe just openly grinned.

On a screen behind him Watto has announced her score as a perfect twelve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the credit for the hand-holding and beta duties goes, as usual, to Marron.


	3. Hux II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, all the credit goes to Marron for motivating me, listening to me whine and bravely beting everything.

With just a few days until the Games Hux found himself more relaxed than he was in a long time. It wasn't exactly surprising. He had planned everything perfectly, so now all he had to do was to watch months of his hard work come into fruition. There was no room for any mistakes, nothing to go wrong. It had a calming effect, like seeing a well-oiled machine at work, every little piece falling neatly into place, a strangely pleasant feeling of things being just right. An incredibly satisfying one.

Even more satisfying was his current position. Sitting in one room with some of the most powerful people in the Galaxy, sipping expensive alcohol and exchanging pleasantries. This moment was what he was working for.

The Games were a show of power; it figured those in power would be interested. Sponsors were, well. On one hand, they were a mixed bunch - heads of big companies, aristocracy with money almost as old as the planet itself, politicians and military men. On the other, they were all cut from the same cloth. Influential, decadent, eager enough to prove it and with enough money to buy themselves a place in the most elite club available. Being a sponsor was about supporting your favourite only on the surface. Well, of course, everyone liked the thrill of being able to turn the tables around, being able to decide and change someone's fate, save someone's life. But the more important and exciting part was showing oneself as powerful enough to influence the Games, wealthy enough to afford this. So being here, right now, was probably more exhilarating for everyone present than whatever else would happen on the arena.

The event in question was, ostensibly, about grading the brand new tributes before the Games began, so of course everyone pretended to be politely interested in whatever these kids were trying to prove here. Although obviously, watching some fools fumble their way around some pointy weapons wasn't terribly engaging, and no one was going to actually pay attention to that.

Even the interior design reflected this. The room lacked one wall, to allow the sponsors to look into the dreadfully grey training area below, but other than that, it was pure Coruscant oppulence, with sofas carefully arranged to allow the guests to indulge in whatever they wished to do, including more intimate conversations.

Which Hux would gladly do, right now. Most of the tributes had already presented themselves and they did as well as could be expected, which was not at all. Only a few even knew with which end to thrust. Careers, of course, but Phasma's boy was also promising. She would be glad to see him do well, so that was a thought to consider.

But the girl currently stumbling around the training room seemed more likely to trip over her own feet than kill anyone. She stuttered out her name, went for a staff, dropped it, and then looked at it with expression both surprised and mortified. Quite disappointing, really, because watching this wasn't even remotely funny. More exasperating, like seeing a puppy try to growl, when it couldn't even bark properly. Hux took a sip of his whiskey, which was excellent, and allowed the chatter of the room to wash over him.

"Hux, I've been trying to get a hold of you all evening, you impossible boy." Amanda Lassaire wore ostentatious clothes and jewellery and make-up which made it impossible to tell her true age, though it certainly was high enough to justify calling Hux a boy. Then again, considering the number of digits in her bank account, she would get away with calling anyone a boy.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't-" Hux caught a motion in the corner of his eye. Then something rushed past, and he blinked.

There was a spear inches away from his nose, the blade firmly lodged in the wall.

He slowly turned back to the only person who could've thrown it - and it was the girl, of course it was this fucking girl, standing meters away from them and way down - and the room fell into an absolute silence now - and she had the nerve to fucking _bow_ -

"Thank you for your consideration." She said, looking straight at Hux. She held his stare for a moment, turned and walked away and there was none of this fumbling inexperience in her motions now.

He was going to fucking kill her.

* * *

This fucking girl turned out to be, unsurprisingly, Ren's tribute. He should've given her twelve just because of it, because of course she had to be a centre of attention - it was probably all that bloody bastard taught her, that and being a pain in the ass. Well, she could have her perfect score and a bull's-eye painted on her back, Hux would make sure she'd be considered a biggest threat this year. So even if she got a few sponsors, it wouldn't help her much, not with every other tribute and the arena itself working against her. She would be dead. Preferably quickly and painfully.

Considering this, he probably could have skipped watching her interview with Watto - he already knew how he wanted to paint her - but she was so awful, it was almost pleasurable. She went back to being a clumsy idiot, just staring at everyone with wide eyes, and her answers were ignorant and sure to offend Coruscant's society, no matter how pretty her stylist made her. Seriously, who the hell talked about food during an interview like this? She didn't even say anything good about it. Well, Hux supposed he shouldn't have expected anything different. Considering who her mentor was, it was a miracle she even talked.

The rest of the tributes weren't so bad, though. He already had a few ideas who to show as whom, what conflicts and alliances he could create, what drama to unfold. Coruscant so loved things being dramatic, they would eat up lovers and friends turning against each other. He just had to facilitate it.

Watching pre-Games interviews helped, maybe more than seeing the tributes training did, because this was the first glimpse of them general audience had. They would be judged by this and the key to creating a good entertainment was playing with that judgement - finding the right role for each tribute and then finding the way to either confirm it or turn it around. In order to do this he had to actually pay attention to what the tributes were saying. Who could be a self-sacrificing martyr, or an innocent sweetheart, or a slick traitor? Who could be _seen_ as such? Of course, there was no point in listening to the kids who were going to die in the first five minutes, and Hux could spot them right away, so he skipped those, but he did memorize what the rest of them were saying. Most of it was the same old song and dreadfully boring, but still, there were some things he could use.

"Planning their demise?" Ren was leaning against the door, all long lines of him in lovely contrast with the drab environment. Hux didn't hear him come in, though it wasn't surprising, because that fucker moved like a cat. He quite often acted like a one, too.

"Don't you have anything better to do than sneak on people?" Hux turned back to the screen. _He_ certainly did have better things to do.

"Better than sneaking on you? No, I don't think so." Ren stretched his shoulders a little, just a tiny movement of a tightly controlled grace, and Hux hated himself for noticing it. In a reflection. On the screen. Just.

"Phasma said you've been... stressed." Ren continued, staring somewhere in the space right to Hux's head. "You're working too much."

Hux snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous. The caring persona doesn't suit you."

"It doesn't?" Ren titled his head, the movement weirdly fluid and not quite natural, and blinked.

"Of course it fucking doesn't, your tribute just tried to kill me!" He turned around to face that fucker.

"She didn't try to kill you" Ren said in the monotone.

"She threw a spear at my head!"

"She threw a spear _near_ your head."

"You... Are you even..." Hux spluttered, and wondered briefly how the fuck Ren could get him worked up so quickly about such an insignificant thing, because his control was better then that and he didn't shout at people, but he wanted to strangle this bastard so much. "How is that better?"

"If she wanted to kill you she wouldn't have missed" Ren said in the same level voice, like this was a perfectly logical and acceptable explanation.

"That's not the point! I don't care what she wanted, she made a fool out of me in front of half of the sponsors, the most influential people out there, and _you put her up to this_ " said Hux through his teeth. It was a wonder they didn't break, he was grinding them so hard.

"But I didn't" Ren said and well, that didn't make sense.

"What?"

"I didn't. I haven't really talked to her before, but it worked rather well, don't you think?" Ren's expression was definitely smug, now, though that was mostly in his eyes, or maybe in that little quirk of his mouth. Hux personally thought his face was ridiculous, anyways, and terrible, and he didn't understand how he could find it attractive, only he really wanted to bite those insolent lips, and he cursed himself for thinking of it. Bloody Ren.

"Well? You think it went well?" Hux chuckled lowly in his throat. "She's as good as dead, now."

Ren shrugged, the movement almost elegant, when everything else about him wasn't. "Does it matter? She would've been dead anyway."

"What a caring mentor you are" Hux drawled, almost amused now, when his temper was back under control. He was still angry at Ren, but he was always angry at Ren.

Who stayed silent, just watching him with those dark eyes.

"Was there something else you wanted?" Hux asked, bringing his eyes back to the screen. Dealing with Ren was usually easier when he didn't have to look at him.

Ren was still quiet, for a moment. When he spoke, there wasn't any curiosity in his voice. "Have you decided who wins, yet?"

Well, of course. It was about _that_.

"The best one, of course." He kept his tone calm, almost flippant.

Ren didn't deign to answer that immediately, presumably still watching Hux with piercing gaze. Hux wondered just what Ren wanted to accomplish. He couldn't really believe Hux would simply tell him the truth; so he was what, trying to intimidate Hux? Like it would work.

"President Snoke trusts you with this." Ren's voice was flat. He was so predictable. He didn't give a shit about his own tribute, but of course he cared if Snoke was satisfied. Hux sometimes wondered where this loyalty came from. Most victors very decidedly weren't acting out of any sense of loyalty and Ren didn't have any reason for it either, especially because he was such a special case. And yet, this blind devotion.

Hux shouldn't... wouldn't dwell on this. It was inconsequential.

"The President is, as always, right. It will be to his liking."

* * *

The start of the Games was, predictably, bloody. Hux didn't even have to help, the kids did it perfectly well themselves. It turned out surprisingly well, he thought. Of course, there was that one idiot who jumped out the platform before time and got himself exploded, but it was probably inevitable. The rest of them, though, behaved adequately. Few of them had run straight to the forest - Ren's pesky tribute among them, though she hesitated briefly, and Phasma's boy, too - but most of them stayed, and went straight to the supplies, and started hacking and slashing and thrusting the moment they faced each other, with whatever they could get their hands on. It was a bloodbath, and it wasn't quick, because there was no way a couple of kids, even career tributes, could kill someone quickly and efficiently. They weren't really trying to, either, they just incapacitated whoever stood in their way, or was simply the closest, and left them to bleed out or crawl to even slower death. It was all very violent and shocking and exactly what Games should be, and it would look beautiful on the screens, all that blood splashing against the snow, with dark silhouettes of trees as a background.

The cameras moved well, capturing the little details; the blood dripping from the fingertips of a blue-skinned Twi'lek girl, the desperate struggle of two boys behind her, similar grimaces of pain and rage of their faces. Hux signaled to slow some of the footage down - not noticeably, but enough to make it feel drawn out, to show each death. He wanted this to make an impact, to capture everyone's attention.

It was still too early to tell what alliances would be made, but he strongly suspected they would turn out the way he wanted them to. And if they didn't, well, he would made them. Starkiller was a work of art; the best arena ever made. Of course it was, he designed it. He could control everything: the earth, the weather, the traps, the trees, the cameras, the tributes. He wouldn't let some kid ruin his work. He wasn't leaving anything to chance.

He wouldn't let go his efforts go to waste. It would be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uhm. Hi?


	4. Phasma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 100% better because of Marron, as always.

Watching the Games always reminded Phasma of her own victory.

She was a career tribute, a volunteer from a planet close to the Core. She trained for the Games all of her life - she couldn't remember a time before that. Whatever it might have been, it didn't matter now; the Games were all she had and Coruscant was her home. She had fought for this - she had always been a warrior - and it was hers now, so why dwell on life that never was?

She didn't think of her time on the arena fondly. It wasn't... pleasant, remembering the desperate need for survival, the compulsion to kill others to ensure her own life. She had been well prepared: she knew how to fight, how to survive in wilderness; she knew the stakes, what she was getting herself into. She understood why the deaths of her fellow tributes were necessary, but it didn't mean she enjoyed them. Loss of life was always regrettable.

Dwelling on this only brought back memories she did not wish to remember. They haunted her still, sometimes, even after years. The way the air had smelt, sharp and fresh. It had been so cold it hurt to breathe, and it hurt to look too, the white vastness of it blinding. She had not seen the cracks on the surface when running away from some terrifying, mantis-like creature, and her leg fell into one of them, and she tumbled, and her ankle still hurt two days later, when she couldn't run from boy her age. Her hands had turned into popsicles by then, fingers unmoving and ashen, and it scared her more than anything else, she needed to get them warm, but everything was so cold, freezing, just white everywhere, and when his blood spilled on her hands it burnt.

She didn't like to think of it at all.

She had won, she was alive and she liked how her life was now. Yes, she mourned the kids who had to die in the arenas every year, and it hurt to see her own protégés fail, but there was nothing to be done about it. She prepared them as best as she could, and talked to sponsors on their behalf, but sometimes they were simply too weak to succeed.

Her current tribute was promising at least. Finn wasn't a career, so he wasn't ideal; it was always easier with the careers. But he was a bright boy, not too young and with a good physique. He was maybe too eager and too naive, looking more for friends than weaknesses in his fellow tributes and lacking the killer instinct, but it could change quickly in a life or death situation. He easily got the hang of the fighting maneuvers she showed him, and he listened to what she said, and remembered it. It could be enough. She had high hopes for him; if he played his cards right, he could get out of there alive.

Of course, the moment she allowed herself to think that he had gone and allied himself with Ren's girl.

 

* * *

 

She distinctly remembered a conversation when she warned him against this exact thing.

"Don't choose the highest graded tributes to be your allies" she had said. "They may not be the strongest, and if they are, they could try to dispose of you. Worse, they will get attention, and that won't only bring sponsors, it will bring trouble."

"Other tributes will try to take them down." Finn had nodded, his eyes thoughtful and trusting.

"Yes. Other people, too." She'd shot him a meaningful look then and had thought he understood.

Clearly, she had been wrong.

It was irritating, to say the least. Choosing allies was important and she had told him all the rules - there was more to it than just 'not the strongest one'  - and she even pointed out some of the suitable ones, like the girl who was handy with the knives. Good interview and pretty, but not too strong; enough to be useful and not a burden, but not enough to cause trouble. There were other options, too. She didn't understand why Finn just didn't pick them.

Siding with that Rey girl would be unwise under the best of circumstances, and with whatever Hux and Ren were trying to prove to each other with the whole ridiculous staff throwing situation, Finn could've just as well signed his own death certificate. Hux would take care of it, he was petty like this.

She supposed the smart thing to do would be to just wash her hands off him and leave Finn to his fate. She _had_ told him what to do, and he _had_ made his own choices. And yet, still, when she thought of it...

He was just a boy. He didn't deserve to be abandoned, for whatever mistakes he had made, and she wasn't going to do so.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, any attempt to help Finn would have to involve Ren. Well, should involve Ren. Finn and the girl were doing well, for the moment - they were still alive, and moving, and avoiding trouble even with the arena itself working against them. In any case, they were doing better than the girl with the knives, who fell into one of the rapidly widening breaches. She still fought, climbed up. It didn't help her much, but Phasma supposed the literal cliffhanger must've been climatic to watch.

Surprisingly, Ren was doing something to attract sponsors, if just showing up at places counted as something. It was more than he did before and his presence seemed to be enough - against all of Hux's efforts the Capitol not only remained interested in Rey, it started to root for the unlikely and unlucky duo - so Phasma decided to be thankful for it.

Still, it didn't mean she couldn't do her own job.

She went about it like she usually did: she would find the right person, figure out what they wanted, obtain it and then approach them with the firm conviction they wouldn't refuse her. It wasn't the most usual way to attract the sponsors; there were many, of course, normally involving a lot more grovelling and promises, but the simple exchange of favours was what Phasma preferred. In any case, getting in debt of anyone of this crowd wasn't the brightest idea. Whatever help she got that way wouldn't be worth it.

The first person on her list was Bazine Netal. Typically Coruscant, in her black and white, geometry inspired outfit and strong, unnatural make-up, Netal was shrew, calculating and self-serving, with little care for anything else besides her own well-being and money. Phasma despised her. Netal represented everything that was rotten within the Coruscant society, egoistical, petty and decadent, without  any willingness to sacrifice, any care for the glory or any regard for the greater good of their Republic. She was loathsome, but her greed made her predictable and easy to be pulled into any direction Phasma wanted. If Phasma was right, and she was sure she was, Netal would be ecstatic to be offered a chance to show off as a sponsor and the fact she would be getting even a little information in exchange would make the whole deal irresistible.

Netal's greed made her easy to find, too, because of course she would be at one of the private viewing parties, courtesy of the President himself. After all, where else would she be, when she could gain oh so much by just by being present here.

Phasma pulled her lips into a smile and walked up to the couch Netal was sprawled on.

"Oh, Bazine, how are you? We haven't seen each other in so long." She said, sitting down and mentally searching for wine. Of course they haven't seen each other, Phasma would rather kiss a snake than voluntary spend time with this viper.

"It certainly has been to long, my dear." Netal's smile was as fake as the rest of her. "But I've been well, though not as busy as you, I imagine. It must be tough before the Games, but so worth it. They're very entertaining this year, aren't they? And your boy is very handsome, it's a shame he has so little luck."

"Ah, yes. Hux outdid himself with this arena, it's splendid" Phasma said. "As for Finn, well. It's quite a show, isn't it? But maybe a little too daring, siding with Ren's girl."

Netal leaned forward and licked her lips, suddenly a lot more interested. Truly, she might've tried being a little less obvious.

"The girl is a sight, but... The rumour goes, our favourite Gamemaker isn't so fond of her. So it doesn't bode well for her."

"Because she threw her staff at him? Oh please" Phasma waived her hand, coping Netal's pretentious manners. "I'm fairly certain it was Ren's idea, you know how he and Hux are." Netal, who Phasma was sure did not in fact know how Ren and Hux were, nodded. "But I do wonder where Hux is going with this. I mean, it's all very memorable, almost like he wants her to..." She stopped, as if checking herself.

Netal straightened. She was looking at Phasma with bright eyes, utterly enthralled.

Phasma fought the urge to snort. Of course Netal caught the bait. Predictable idiot.

 

* * *

 

Regardless of what she told others, if she really wanted Finn to win and get out of it alive, Phasma would need to somewhat bend the rules. And she needed Ren in order to do so.

For better or worse, Finn had tied his fate with Rey. It might've not been wise or what Phasma would've chosen for him, but she wasn't in any position to change it. Finn and Rey became a fixed pair; they were capable and endearing with their puppy love and lucky enough to repeatedly escape death by a margin so narrow it was nearly unbelievable. It made them entertaining, which was good, and Phasma could almost be glad to see it, if only they hadn't cared so much about each other. Finn obviously loved the girl, if one could learn how to love someone in little more than a week, and he would sooner die himself than see her come to any harm. Phasma didn't care enough about Rey to judge her character, but so far she acted in the same self-sacrificing manner that Finn did. It made them both stupid - they desperately trying to ensure the other survived, got a chance at winning and getting out, and it would kill them in the end. No matter how well they did, how smart they acted and how good they fought, they both would die because they didn't play to win. They weren't determined to live, they just wanted the other not to die, and so neither of them could win this, not with these rules.

But. If Phasma could bend the rules a little.

The Games had only one victor. That wouldn't change - but it didn't need to change. No one said the tributes couldn't be made to think otherwise.

After all, it wouldn't be the first times the tributes were lied to. They were lied to more than they were ever told the truth and the Games were built on that. It wasn't like they would get a chance to complain about it, as they would be dead anyway.

The problem was whether the viewers - Coruscant viewers - would accept it. Phasma was convinced they would; in fact, they already did. They loved watching Finn and Rey working together, loved how stupid and vulnerable it made them, and would love seeing them gain hope only to get it ripped away in the end. Tragedies made the best love stories.

Still, Phasma didn't have any way to actually put this plan into motion. Hux would never listen, would never entertain the idea that was not his own, and she didn't have enough leverage to get to anyone with influence to change things.

But Ren did.

She and Ren worked fine so far, as this quasi-team, with him getting the attention of the sponsors just by showing up anywhere and her doing the rest of the talking and manipulation. But even the best gifts wouldn't be enough to ensure the survival of their self-sacrificing, star-crossed tributes. And none of the sponsors she talked with every day could affect the Games' rules in any way. The only person capable of making such a change over Gamemaker's head was President Snoke himself and he seemingly didn't care about the Games at all.

It was good thing he seemed to care about Kylo Ren, then.

The fact that Kylo Ren enjoyed more of the President's favour than any other victor was common knowledge and half the reason why he was so popular on Coruscant and the rest of the core worlds. The other half of it was just him, sadly, because he really was the perfect example of what the Games's Victor should be. He could even be charming, if he wanted to, and his elusiveness only added to the allure. Still, if there was anyone who could even ask Snoke to do something like this on a whim it would be Ren.

So all Phasma had to do was to get Ren to ask - and that was the whole problem. He barely did anything to help his tribute so far, and even though it was still more than he ever did for any other tribute of his, it still might've been just to spite Hux. The question whether spiting Hux was enough reason for Ren to actively manipulate the Games' outcome remained to be answered. And, well, there were other things she could bring up to convince him.

Which is how she found herself on yet another luxurious couch, sipping her wine and ignoring the mindless chatter around her. It wasn't what she was here for, this time. She'd prefer to admire the internal decor, even if it wasn't much good: grey dove walls and couches with splashes of red, the multiple screens as centrepieces. Rather unimaginable, but well, what happened on those screens was the main entertainment, in theory, and blood on snow certainly fitted nicely with the room's blandness.

At least the alcohol was good.

Ren showed up later than most guests, but not as late as she feared. Dressed all in black, as always, he stood out terribly. But no one approach him, even if they clearly wanted to.

Phasma put her glass back and went to intercept him before he went to sulk in the corner.

"Kylo" she said, stopping a step from him. Ren turned to look at her and blinked. "Would you care for a walk? I find myself in need of some air."

Ren nodded and went straight for the patio doors without another word. He didn't look surprised, he probably expected her to talk to him sooner or later.

The gardens were a beautiful place, big enough to get lost in. The temperature within was controlled, with glass roof overhead, allowing for variety of flowers even in middle of the winter. Most of them were roses, of course.

More importantly, they were much less crowded than viewing rooms, so Phasma could worry less about being overheard. She was taking a risk in coming to Ren in the first place, anyway.

"I have a proposition for you" she started carefully. Ren looked at her with slightly raised eyebrow, but didn't stop walking.

"Well, more of a favour, really. But a mutually beneficial one."

He still hasn't stopped walking, but he looked more amused now. Still no verbal answer, but that was Ren. He wasn't very hard to talk to, if you asked the right questions, which mostly consisted of yes-or-no variety.

"I want Finn to win," Phasma continued, "and I know you at least don't want your girl to die too horribly. And we both know this is going to happen with what they're doing now." She licked her lips and reminded herself again that this was Ren, so honesty would be the best course of action. "But I may have a solution to that."

"And that's your favour?" Ren still seemed amused on the surface, with slightly raised eyebrows and light tone, but something in his stance has changed. There was wariness in how he held his shoulders, in barely noticeable twitch of his hands. He stopped walking and Phasma absently noticed they were close to the middle of the gardens, far away from any doors and surrounded by roses on all sides.

"A favour for me, yes." She breathed. She needed this to work. "Finn and Rey are doing everything they can to protect each other and they will die terribly because of it, but there isn't anything either one of us can do to stop them. The only thing we can do is to turn this into an advantage."

"Bend the rules. Announce that there's a change, that there can be two winners from now on, if they've been working together the whole time. Finn and Rey will be the only pair to qualify for this, so that's a tremendous advantage, and they can hardly be more of a threat, everyone is already trying to kill them. Coruscant will eat this right up, too, they love the whole doomed lovers thing. So when the two of them are starting to look like likely winners? The Capitol will be ecstatic."

"But the best part will be the end, because it won't last - once there are only two survivors, there will be a change of rules again. Back to only one winner, so one of them will have to kill another. That's a perfect end, isn't it? One lover dying in arms of the other, killed by his hand? And that way one of our tributes will win. It will have to be either Finn or Rey."

Phasma fell silent. Let out a breath. The cat was out of the bag now.

Kylo Ren was watching her with dark, unreadable eyes.

"And this is your favour?" he asked.

"I want you to ask President Snoke to do this. That's my favour."

Ren stayed silent, his face closed off.

"This works for the President's advantage, too. Just think how much support a show like that will bring him" she said, and tried to put all the conviction she felt into her words. "This is the best solution for everyone."

The scent of roses seemed overwhelming. She hadn't noticed before.

"Hux won't like it." Ren looked to the side, as if considering something.

"No, he won't."

"But it's a good idea."

Phasma nodded.

"Consider it done, then." He turned and walked away without another word.

Well. This was easier than she thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I'm... not precisely happy with this chapter.
> 
> As for more important stuff: this will turn into a series soon, because I've got more things planned and I figured it would work better in a format more similar to original HG.


	5. Hux III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbetaed, so I'm sure there are many mistakes. Please do point them out.
> 
> As usual, many thanks to Marron for helping me with the dialogue - which was the worst, really, I hate those two assholes - and allowing me to bounce ideas of her. Also to my brother, for coming up with terrifying ways to kill someone.

Directing the Games was as much of a thrill as Hux hoped it would be.

It was addicting, almost, the feeling of it: adrenaline and absolute control, getting to be on top of things when they happened so fast. Making every decision, every call, deciding between someone's life and death. Making a show out of it.

Standing in the middle of arena control centre, in a middle of a room where everything happened, Hux thought this, here was the place he was always supposed to be. The giant screen before him showed a picture which would be broadcasted to everyone in the Galaxy in minutes; the lesser screens before technicians keeping eyes on every tribute left alive. The control of the arena literally at his fingertips. This whole machine, built by his design, worked as seamlessly as he had predicted.

And he knew his arena, his Games were a success. Every article published so far stressed how well prepared they were, every commentator remarked what a masterpiece the Starkiller was. The public was more hyped up than ever, delighting in increasingly violent and unexpected manner of tributes death, drinking up their blood as if it was a fine wine.

The only thing ruining Hux's good mood was the continued survival of Ren's tribute, but he supposed he could live with this minor inconvenience. He still wouldn't allow her to win.

"Sir," Mitaka's voice interrupted Hux's inner musings. "The corellian tribute is continuing to move northwest, esteemed time of arrival to extraction point three minutes."

Hux almost smiled. The boy was a career and one of the favourites. He had been smart, too, his chances of winning clearly high.

"Excellent. Get him on a main screen."

They were, after all, almost two weeks into the Games. It was time to get things spiced up.

Hux calmly watched as the boy moved through the snowy forest, confident in his abilities and blind because of it.

"Put the music on."

In theory, infrasounds could cause fear, anxiety or uneasiness in human subjects. Usually they didn't induce panic, but this particular piece was Hux's own creation, made for the Games. He hadn't used it yet and was eager to see its effects.

"Yes, sir." Mitaka pushed a few buttons.

On a screen the boy twitched and looked around with wide eyes. His breath started to get shallow, uneven. He obviously didn't know what was happening and it only made him more afraid. He started moving faster, breaking into a panicked run.

He didn't watch his steps.

The resulting explosion seemed horrifyingly loud in previously quiet forest. Hux gestured to his staff to alter this second of footage, like the cams were rocked by the blast.

The mine threw the corellian boy few meters into the air and he hit the ground with a sickening crunch. His torn legs landed more to the right, the cams focusing on them for a moment.

He was still alive, blinking dazedly at his two stumps bleeding red onto the snow. And then he screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Hux turned away from the screen and searched the room for his caf. This would take a few minutes. He could take a short break.

He found his caf and datapad, sitting down and combing through the messages. Nothing interesting, but he could wait a moment before the holonet exploded into outrage and delight. The satisfaction he felt now was worth a perpetual sleep deprivation.

"Uhm, sir?" Thanisson asked, fidgeting and clearly nervous.

"Yes?" Hux fought the urge to raise his eyebrow.

"It's a massage from the President, sir. For you." Thanisson handed Hux a piece of flimsy. Snoke couldn't just send it to his datapad, like a normal person.

Hux took it, suddenly alert, and felt all of his previous calm leaving him as he read the words. Out of all the things this senile, incompetent creep could come up with, this. To interfere with his Games like that. And Ren must have known, that smug fucker. Oh, who was he kidding, it was probably Ren's idea, to destroy everything Hux was working for...

He crushed the flimsy in his hand, taking a hold of his rage. It wouldn't help him now. He strode back towards the screen.

"Mitaka, prepare the mics, we got an announcement to make." Hux's voice was as level and dispassionate as minutes ago.

"Yes, sir, but... if I may ask..." Mitaka gulped. "What announcement?"

Hux felt his lips pull back into a sneer.

"President Snoke has just changed the rules of the Games."

 

* * *

 

Hux found Ren lying on a couch. Hux's couch, in Hux's own apartment and with Hux's own cat purring loudly on Ren's chest. Neither of these two traitorous assholes noticed when Hux had barged in. It only made him see more red, the nerve of it, and he didn't remember getting from the door to the couch.

He looked down at sleeping Ren and reminded himself that no, he couldn't just throttle him yet.

"What the fuck have you done?" Hux spit the words, forceful and full of venom. Millie glared at him, clearly displeased, and jumped down to hide under the couch. Ren opened his eyes and blinked slowly, like he was just waking up. But his gaze was clear and alert.

"Slept? I know you're unfamiliar with the concept, normal functioning people need to do that sometimes." His voice was low and raspy.

"You... The Games. Snoke. What have you told him. What have you done," Hux snarled.

Ren blinked again and titled his head.

"Hux, I don't know what you're talking about."

"The fuck you don't."

"Contrary to your beliefs, I can't read your mind," Ren deemed it appropriate to sit up. He stretched, too, probably trying to work out the kinks in his neck, and Hux caught himself following the motion of his arms, the muscles shifting minutely. "So I actually have no idea." Ren repeated, patiently, like Hux was being particularly unreasonable.

As if he ever was the unreasonable one.

He brought his hand up to Ren's head, tangled his fingers in those soft locks and yanked back. Ren's breath hitched in his throat.

"Snoke changed the rules of the Games," Hux said, his tone icy "We're to have two victors, which is very convenient for your tribute. I want to know what you said to him, or did for him, to get him to do this."

Ren stayed silent, staring up at him, eyes dark and a little glassy, soft with sleepiness. Hux slowly moved his hand from the back of Ren's head to the front of his neck, a motion almost like a caress. Without any pressure.

When Ren finally spoke, Hux could feel the vibrations in his palm.

"And you think the President did this because of me?"

"Why else would he?" Hux snapped. He felt calmer now he had Ren in hand, but calmer didn't mean calm. He could still feel the rage burning under the surface, felt the urge to hurt something, but he would get his answers first. Flying blind into a tantrum was Ren's speciality, not his.

"He could have his reasons," Ren said. "The President is wise. He would never have done anything that could harm the Republic."

"Harm the Republic? Fuck the Republic, he just destroyed the Games. This state would be nothing without the Games."

"The Republic," Ren repeated stubbornly, "is much greater than one Hunger Games. It won't fall because of one change of rules."

"It won't?" Hux smiled mockingly. "Are you so sure of that?"

"Yes. And it's done, Hux, there's nothing you can do to change it."

"Of course I can't change it, you made sure of that, didn't you?" He barely kept himself from shouting. "You're a child, Ren, running around and destroying months of work without any thought of consequences. You talk about the Republic and yet you have no idea what impact this could make."

"It's not gonna have any consequences," Ren looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. "It's a hoax, not anything permanent. It doesn't really change anything."

"It undermines everything I've been working for," Hux seethed, seeing red again, and felt his grip tighten around Ren's throat.

"And what have you been working for?" Ren asked calmly. He was strangely calm, all along. And very... attentive.

Hux felt his anger receding like a tide, making way for something cold and unpleasant in his chest. Ren's eyes were still dark and unreadable and Hux wondered, not for the first time, why Ren was here. Why he kept coming back. Even if their relationship was purely sexual - and it was - Ren had made himself a constant feature in Hux's life, to a point that even Millie, who hated everyone else on principle, had warmed up to him. But Ren was, first and foremost, Snoke's lapdog who could turn vicious when it suited him. He had been involved in Coruscant's politics for over ten years, so he couldn't be as stupid as he looked. There probably wasn't any other person in Capitol whom Hux should trust less.

Not with his ambitions, at least.

It almost made him want to back down, step away from Ren and put as much distance between them as possible. Looking at Ren was sometimes like looking into a void, knowing fully well it could swallow you whole.

Hux took a step closer instead, let his fingers dig into Ren's neck and go up, until Ren had to strain his neck and lean away.

"I've spent years planning this Games and engineering the arena," Hux said, and there was none of previous anger in his voice, but his words felt like venom all the same, "all for the glory of the Republic, and I will not stand by when all of her values are undermined by one man's ambition."

Millicent hissed from where she was still hiding underneath the couch. Hux wondered whether she was reacting to his tone or sensing him lying.

"You're scaring your cat," said Ren lightly. Whatever was in his head moments ago, whatever made him look at Hux with intensity of a dying star, was clearly gone now. He was back to being overgrown child, with his big eyes and long lashes and stupid hair.

"I'm scaring the..." Hux spluttered. "Are you even serious."

"She doesn't like it when you're like this," Ren muttered, reproachful.

"She will live. Will you listen to me?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Ren said, sounding more like himself, as in petulant, whiny child.

Hux brought his other hand up, gently putting it into Ren's hair, combing through it with his fingers. "Kylo, don't you see? This is a mistake. You cannot change a foundation of the Games and then hope everything will carry on as it were."

"The Capitol won't fall because of one girl," Ren mumbled, hiding his face in Hux's uniform.

"It might fall because of one mistake. What if it leads to another, and then another one, and so on?"

"It won't," Ren whined, his hands coming up around Hux's waist. "It isn't a mistake, you're only saying that because it's something out of your control and you hate it."

"I do. This will end badly," Hux sighed. It was no use trying to talk to Ren now. His hair was soft and silky in Hux's hands. Like Millicent's fur. He wondered if Ren would start purring if he petted him enough. "Why do you care so much about this girl, anyway? You never did before."

"I don't, she's no one important," Ren would definitely be rolling his eyes now, if they weren't closed, "and I'm not trying to undermine your stupid Games. You're just being paranoid, Hux."

"I'm not paranoid, I'm right," he said, absentminded. It always amazed him how Ren, who was capable of killing people in several different ways, could not withstand affection. It made him more honest than threats ever could.

"Yes, of course, you're always right," Ren was back to being sarcastic. "Will you stay?"

"I don't have time for you now, I should do damage control after your little stunt."

"I thought you had people for that," Ren murmured into Hux's uniform.

"If you wanted me to stay, maybe you shouldn't have made my work more difficult," Hux said, though he wasn't really angry at Ren anymore. He wasn't really angry at Ren in the first place. "This is your own fault."

"Hux," Ren finally looked up at him again, "Stay. Please."

Hux felt something warm in his chest. It was probably a heartburn.

But when he leaned down to kiss Ren his lips felt soft and warm, and so did Ren's arms around him, and the feeling in his chest only grew. Kissing Ren should feel more like leaping from a height into unknown, because Ren was fey and dangerous and unpredictable, and it sometimes did. But now it just felt easy and comforting, and he wanted to crawl into Ren, under his skin and ribs and veins, and rest there.

He stayed.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later Ren's girl broke every rule there ever was in the Games and it fell to Hux to decide whether the Games would have two victors or none at all.

 

* * *

 

One desperate girl, a couple of berries and all his meticulous planning fell like a house of cards. Hux wondered whether this girl, this child, even knew what she did. This wasn't a victory, not for her. She didn't save anyone. Being a puppet might yet be a worse fate than dying.

But it was a concession for the Capitol, even if a minor one. A step back, no matter how little, temporary loss of control. But it could be enough. The Capitol, the president, all of the faceless machine of the Games - that wasn't invincible. They took a step back, all because of one little girl with hands full of berries. They could take another one. It was enough to hope.

But too much hope was a dangerous thing. It could spread within your veins, clog your brain, make you do such a stupid, reckless things.

Such a strange thing, hope. Hux thought of Phasma's steady gaze, the curve of Ren's neck, his own hands on the console, controlling everything. He thought of... possibilities, now.

He allowed himself to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uff.
> 
> As you can see, this is a series now. I can't say when the next instalment will come for sure, because I'm terrible with schedules, but I hope it will be soon. I'm definitely excited for it - there will be more politics! Which is what I am here for. But also more plot and more kylux, so I hope it will be better than this part, which is honestly more about setting up the stage. (It's up now, obviously! I hope you'll like it.)
> 
> And thanks to everyone for reading this, leaving kudos and comments, and sticking up with me.
> 
> You can come scream at me at [tumblr](http://dobranocka.tumblr.com). It makes me write faster.


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